


A Little Closer Now (I Tend To Freak Myself Out)

by trickstartmonk



Series: super!duper!clueless! [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, M/M, Superpowers, copycat!pete, empath!patrick, incubus!brendon, invisible!ryan, levitating!joe, talkstoanimals!andy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstartmonk/pseuds/trickstartmonk
Summary: "Maybe they'll dance with each other when they're meant to"





	A Little Closer Now (I Tend To Freak Myself Out)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sleeping with the light on  
> I tend to freak myself out  
> Will you come a little closer now and tell me I'm a  
> Scrawny motherfucker with a cool hairstyle  
> -Scrawny by the Wallows

_light touches burn hot/ and it happens too often/ because oh, we touch a lot_

 

“Frank can fuck you up, man.”

“Frank? The tiny angry one?” Pete clarifies. Joe nods emphatically, eyes a little wide. He looks serious.

“Huh.” Pete thinks for a while. He decides fighting that tiny monstrosity probably isn’t worth it. He looks sorta scrawny and tiny in the dangerous way instead of the totally cute, non threatening way. Like Patrick. Patrick’s totally adorable, and he can’t fight. _Wouldn’t_ either, Pete corrects.

Frank probably fights dirty, anyway. Little lightning fast monkey punches and dodging and swift kicks. He seems the type.

Pete touches his cheek softly, marveling at it’s smooth and uniform coloration. His fingers twitch on his cheekbone, thinking about how it would feel purple and blue and gashed.

He sighs.

Patrick walks in and his eyes skit over Pete. He chuckles and asks, “Who made Pete sad?” His mouth is frowning a tiny bit like he does when he’s curious.

A tiny voice in Pete's head supplies, ' _you._ '

Joe's eyes never leave the game in front of him. He says, "My Chemical Romance."

Patrick chuckles warmly. He sits indian-style on the floor, his head propped up on his hands which are propped up on his legs.

He looks, well. Pete thinks he looks like  _Patrick_ which by law of extension means he looks  _good_ , and. Yeah.

Pete presses his body firmly into the couch and keeps his eyes closed. His mouth is a tight but tired line and his face is mostly shielded by his hair and hoodie. He looks emo, probably, but he's been in a funk recently. He pointedly doesn't think about assholes who sing like angels and jerks who force Pete into positions of unrequited love. He stretches out and feels the exposed skin at his hip, where the fabric has moved.

The air is cold and it hurts a little. Tiny cool pins and needles.

He doesn't fix it.

Joe, who is currently playing chess alone at the couch adjacent to Pete, shakes his head and grumbles loudly. He moves his knight with a dramatic and confident flair, only to promptly deflate when the other team makes a better move. He huffs rather loudly.

Pete opens an eye. He wonders how Joe keeps the board so balanced on the cushion, how it would only take a little bit of shifting to ruin the game. All it would take is for someone to hop on the couch too, and it'd be chaos.

Pete's lips curl. 

Patrick, however looks increasingly concerned. He looks over Pete again, then Joe, then Pete _again_ and stands up. He walks over to where Pete is lying down, briskly, and lifts Pete’s feet as he sits on the couch too, now in the very recently vacated seat. Pete sighs and pushes his feet in to Patrick’s lap. Patrick grabs on to them, his calves, and doesn’t let go.

Pete closes his eyes again.

(He pretends he doesn't love the weight on his legs, but he knows its a lie.) 

He hears Joe scoff, most likely still directed at the chess game. The sounds of breathing, tapping, and the air conditioner humming fill Pete’s ears. Like a mini-symphony that sings him to sleep. He smiles.

  
He’s still smiling when he hears, no, _feels_ Patrick lean over Pete’s legs, his waist, his stomach, and his chest to get closer to Pete. Pete tenses and his eyes snap open, unknowing and frankly a little scared. Patrick stops just short of Pete's mouth and whispers.

"I think Ryan's winning."

Pete stares at him wildly. 

He manages, "Uh."

Patrick nods knowledgeably and leans back again, thank god.

Next time Pete opens his eyes he pays more attention. He hadn't noticed the invisible man in the room playing the white team on Joe's chess game, but it makes more sense. Pete hadn't really wondered _why_ Joe was playing by himself, had instead taken it as a given. When he carefully observes though, the couch cushion across Joe is actually slightly cratered inwards and ah, that must be him.

Joe moves a rook and takes his opponent's pawn. He whoops then moans pitifully when the invisible force takes said rook. His curls bounce when he breathes in shakily, face red.

Pete says, "Joe, you  _always_ lose."

Joe shrugs. 

Pete says, "Joe, you're losing  _right now_."

Joe nods once.

Pete sighs. He looks to the empty space on Joe's couch and lets his voice carry.

"Ryan, can't you go easier on him?"

He hears rather than sees Ryan's mouth open. "Oh, but it's just so _fun_ , Pete." He moves two spaces diagonal with his bishop and laughs softly, "Check."

Joe does Pete's job for him and throws the board up, effectively knocking all the pieces over.

Patrick's fingers flex on Pete's foot and Pete falls asleep.

(It's always easier with Patrick around, and shut up, shut up. He knows how suspicious that sounds, how pathetic, how stupid. But it's the truth.)

Patrick breathes out and he holds on tighter, unwilling to relent.

 ***

_joking, do it for a laugh/ but if you told me to/ i'd split my soul in half_

 

“So you told him.”

Pete hums. “Yes. Well, no.” He shoots a rubber band at the blue wall.  _Smack._ “Sort of?”

Brendon arches his eyebrow and grins. “What does that mean?”

Pete glares, but all Brendon does is throw his head back and laugh.  It echoes in the quiet room and Pete hates him right now. Everyone else went off to a label party, but Pete begged off and so apparently did Brendon. The asshole in question thinks Pete’s pain is hilarious.

Brendon must realize that it's not a joke though, because when he looks back at Pete, his face sobers some. He shifts on the couch and stills his tapping foot.

Brendon asks more seriously this time, “What do you mean?” His eyes are darker now, and Pete suppresses the familiar shiver.

Pete has options. He  _could_ tell Brendon to fuck off and mind his own business, but it’d take more effort than it’d be worth. Besides, Pete could use a little venting.

Pete stares at his socks.“Okay, so maybe I didn’t tell him.” He watches Brendon smile as if to taunt him into explaining further, and sighs. “But he knows. Or like. Should. He  _should_ fucking know but he won’t  _acknowledge_ it.”

“He can’t just  _know_ , Pete.” Pete can practically  _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

“Tough shit then because he does,” Pete groans. His arms flail up a bit because he’s angry and talking and sometimes it’s like his hands have a mind of their own, moving of their own accord. He’s being a bitch, he knows, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Brendon huffs in an amused way.

“Well then, alright. How does he know?” Brendon prompts.

Pete stares at his hands for a few moments before answering. He half expects Brendon to call him out on it, tell him to hurry the fuck up, or change the subject, but neither happen. It’s a little out of Brendon’s character, who mostly comes off as impulsive and overexcited.

His calmness unnerves Pete.

(Brendon can be like this though, quiet and patient. It’s rare, but still happens much more often than you’d think. Pete thinks he’s actually a good friend and a nice kid, but will never say out loud. Brendon would probably get a big ego or complex or something, God no. He will _not_ fuel that.)

Pete rubs his dry knuckles and pops them.

It’s the only sound save for their breathing in the room.

Brendon watches with dark eyes and waits. His chest rises and falls evenly and Pete envies his comfort.

Pete takes a breath and finally tries to explain. “I gave him the lyrics.”

Brendon’s foot jiggles.

“He shou- _anyone_ should be able to tell what I mean. They’re so fucking, God,” Pete clenches his fists.

Brendon asks, “Truthful?”

Pete shakes his head. He breathes out, “ _Obvious._ ”

“Oh.”

Pete looks up and nods. Brendon meets his eyes, and the tug in his gut is there the way it always is with Brendon, the subtle  _want_ that always surrounds him wherever he goes. Pete notes distantly that its Brendon’s power and not his fault, but he doesn’t much mind anyway.

 _Patrick sometimes teases Pete that he and Brendon are flirting doofuses, but Pete disagrees. He’s seen Brendon flirt and he knows how_ he _flirts and whatever friendship they’ve got going on is most definitely not it._

_Plus, Pete thinks a little bitterly, Brendon’s got his own annoying crush, just as Pete does. And unfortunately, neither overlap._

_Although, Pete knows that it’d be easier if he and Pete were in love instead. They’re similar in the way they think, and all it’d take is to give in to Brendon’s natural charm. They’d be great muses for each other. Words for music, vice versa._

But Pete thinks of his favorite redhead and suddenly Brendon’s pull is far weaker. He stares at Brendon’s eyes again and instead wishes they were blue.

Brendon smiles and rocks a little in his seat. “I mean. In  _my_ experience,” he says, “lyricists aren’t as obvious as they tend to think they are.” His smile is smaller than usual.

“Ross?”

Brendon shrugs and doesn’t elaborate.

He continues, “My point though, is you guys always think you’re being so,” he picks at a loose thread of his jeans. “Apparent. Even when you’re not.”

Pete grins. "Trouble in paradise?"

Brendon's head snaps up. He narrows his eyes and shrugs again, this time a little more forced. "No. Nah we're- He." He swallows. "No."

Pete's lip twitches. "No?"

Brendon's eyes are almost black when he crosses his arms. His voice is lower, almost threateningly so when he repeats, "No."

Pete drops it.

They sit there in quiet and companionable silence for around five minutes because that's all their twitchiness can handle. Then, they turn on the Wii console and play Mario Kart for a few hours. 

By the time the door opens and their respective bandmates file in, both have passed out. Brendon is sitting up against the couch, (both of them had decided to sit on the floor for some reason), and Pete's practically half on-top of him, with his head tucked in the crook of Brendon's neck. They blearily move apart when everyone shuffles in, but only barely.

The TV is still on, bright and illuminating with the theme music on very low. It must be, Pete checks his phone, "Oh." He says. 1am, huh.

He looks around and it seems almost peaceful, nearly ethereal in the almost dark of the rest of the room that is partially brightened by Mario on the screen. Beside him, Brendon yawns and fists his eyes, adjusting his shirt from where it rucked up when they were pressed together. Pete's side is warm from Brendon and he can bet he left a similar residual heat on Brendon too.

Pete admires the beauty of the room and the talking voices behind him. 

He sighs and slouches down, his bones content and jelly.

Then, the lights turn on and he just wishes everyone would fuck off.

Both he and Brendon fling arms over their sensitive eyes and groan, which makes everyone who just walked in laugh.

"Fuck you!" Pete hollers back at hem.

Someone, most likely Joe, yells back, "I have standards!"

"That's not what your  _mother_  said last night!" Brendon groggily laughs.

Spencer walks over to the couch and lightly smacks Brendon on the head. Brendon make a "uff" sound and rubs at the spot.

Ryan shuffles over too and smiles down fondly. He grins, "That's not what your SISTER told me last weekend."

The room  _oooh's_  and Brendon wrinkles his nose. He grabs Ryan's calf and giggles, "Oh yeah? Well I heard from your  _BROTHER_ when I was banging him last week!"

Everyone laughs and Pete watches Ryan ask wonderingly, "I don't even have a brother?"

Brendon shrugs and Ryan plops down in the small space between Brendon and Pete. He wiggles until he's firmly in the middle and noticeably shifts closer to Brendon. Pete has no choice but to scoot a few feet away from the two and all Ryan does is shoot him a dark look.

Pete tries smiling back, but Ryan's mouth twitches downward. He turns his head back to Brendon, and Pete watches their shoulders touch and shake, hears their giggles. Ryan moves closer, maybe taking back territory and- oh. 

Huh. 

Pete shakes his head to himself and smiles. They're whispering and laughing, and Pete's not jealous, no. Those kids are stupid, and their pining is mutual, and yeah.

He's not jealous. He just wishes cupid wasn't such a lousy shot sometimes.

Patrick walks over eventually and snaps Pete out of his thoughts. He looks vaguely tired, like maybe the night was too long or maybe he just wanted to be alone, but Pete doesn't ask. There's a lot he wants to ask recently and he's afraid if he starts he won't be able to stop.

Patrick scuffs his shoes and knocks it against Pete's leg. He mumbles something and Pete can't really hear it.

He asks, "Huh?"

Patrick casts a look at him, somehow similar to Ryan's and Pete can't imagine why. He says, clearer this time, "You didn't come with us." Its not a question.

Pete says, "Yeah."

Patrick's eyes flit to Pete's left, at the two boys. He furrows an eyebrow and asks, "Better company?"

Pete can't distinguish his tone. Mad? Upset? Frustrated?

"Nice company, yeah. We played Mario Kart and braided each other's hair," he jokes.

Patrick lifts an eyebrow. "Then fell asleep on each other." It's _still_ not a question.

Pete shrugs. He wonders why Patrick won't drop it, the thing with him and Brendon. There's nothing more than platonic feelings there, and yeah yeah, he knows Brendon's pretty and he's aware of that tiny crush the kid had when Pete signed them, but no. No. Brendon has a draw to him, undeniable and undoubtable, but Pete doesn't feel anything he could constitute as more than a familiar and friendly affection.

"Yeah." They're touchy people, this is a well known fact. Brendon cuddles and so does Pete and  _why_ does Patrick make it out to be something else?

(Patrick of _all_ people should know his cuddles mean nothing unless they're for Patrick, but fine. Whatever, fuck.)

Patrick kicks at the floor. He says, so earnest that it catches Pete off-guard, "I- uh, um." He toes the carpet, "- missed you."

Pete wants to be a bitch and make Patrick squirm, but it's hard. Patrick looks stiff and sad, and hey, that's not what Pete wants, ever. He looks up and pats the ground, eyes laced hopeful and his stomach jumps happily when Patrick moves to sit.

Funnily enough, he sits in the tiny space between Ryan and Pete, shouldering himself in close, his body pressed tight and warm against Pete's. He angles himself away from Brendon and Ryan, and his face looks worried and soft and  _perfect._ Pete snuggles in, presses his nose to Patrick's temple and gives him a sloppy kiss. He breathes in Patrick's shampoo, and wraps a firm arm around his waist, holding on tight. Unwilling to let go.

Patrick melts, and Pete smiles into his hair. 

Pete thinks its horrible their bodies fit so well together. A shame that they will only ever be friends, but he's getting over it. He is. He really  _really_ is, promise.

(He wishes he believed that.)

Pete clenches his jaw and rubs soothing circles into Patrick's back, feels his warms skin through his t-shirt, and doesn't entertain ideas of what-if.

It's gotten him nowhere thus far, and he's a fool.

A fool, a fool, a fool, a  _fool_ , yes.

 _For you_ , Pete thinks, _yes. For you, anything._

_***_

_grant me this please, a dance/ follow my lead, one step, two/ oh dance with me, mine at last_

Patrick is talking to Spencer, and the pair get along quite well.

_Patrick explains it as Spencer's power is negation, so he doesn't emit anything that Patrick has to counteract. No headaches, no exhaustion, just words. Oh, and Spencer drums too, how sick is that? Spencer blinks and responds, "Yeah. That's why me and Brendon are so close. I'm the only one who can tune him out for everyone."_

Whatever the reason, they like each other, are friends. Pete thinks it's nice and feels sorta bad, seeing as he hogged both Brendon and their lyricist, Ryan, but says nothing. Patrick and Spencer don't need pity or really, anyone else in their conversations. They're good.

Pete takes a beer from the ice chest and sits on the porch. They're at a party, someone's house, and its nice. Summer tends to bring heat and sweat and general discomfort, but they're in LA and all Pete's had to bear so far is tanned skin, barbecues, and pools. He thinks this is California's true appeal,  _this_ is what everyone talks about, and he gets it. Chicago stays chilly and smells different. Less beach and smog, more rain and car exhaust. Still, he knows, that's  _home._

Someone sits next to him and he's surprised to see it's Andy. Andy stares ahead at the people circled down the stairs around the fire and sips his water. He's got a crow on his shoulder, one that he picked up a few hours ago.

 

_Andy had said, "Her name is Caw."_

_When Joe asked if Andy was joking, he received a light cuff to cheek._

_Andy said sternly, "Have some respect."_

_Joe just nodded and politely asked is Caw would like some birdseed and water. She squawked at him, a yes, and later pat her beak down on his head three times as a gentle 'thank you'._

_Joe beamed._

 

Andy looks sideways at Pete. He nods over to where the Panic! kids are, and a slight smile graces his lips.

"Kind of strange, aren't they?"

Pete follows his gaze and laughs. "Bren and Ryan?" he asks.

Andy nods.

Pete sips his beer and says, "Yeah."

They're sitting at the fire, and its funny because Ryan has a body wrapped around him and so does Brendon, but neither are each other. They're sitting across from one another, the flames dancing between them, and both should _probably_ be paying attention to the people cuddling them, but both seem content to softly smile at each other several feet away, silent conversations for them and only them.

(Ryan's got a flower in his hair, and Pete knows Brendon stuck it there with a flourish many hours ago. Ryan has yet to dislodge it, likely to both his own and Brendon's delight.)

Abruptly, Pete takes in a gulp of air. "Why do they _do_ that?" He finds himself asking.

"Hm?"

"Why do they dance around each other like that, I mean." He looks at Andy and gestures to them. "Why won't they just," he huffs, "get over it."

He expects Andy to agree or giggle or tell Pete to mind his own business, but Andy looks at him carefully. His eyes are softer than usual when he speaks, but just as intense.

"Maybe they'll dance with each other when they're meant to."

He says it so confidently and vague that Pete knows he's missing something, but not exactly sure  _what._

Pete shuts his mouth and looks back at them. It seems that Ryan has drifted over to Brendon already in a matter of minutes, the two crouched over someone's acoustic, plucking tiny melodies and humming snippets of songs. Their girls left abandoned.

Pete thinks to Andy's words, and agrees. Maybe they just need some more time.

He's not sure what time it is, but it's dark, and probably very,  _very_ late. Pete is sitting next to the fire now, and the party has quieted a lot. Most everyone has left, but a few are still there, asleep, quietly talking, or silently watching. Pete's currently the third option, just taking in his surroundings and the beauty of this place. The fire cracks like a drum line, and Patrick would love that. The low murmuring voices sound like a slow and gentle bass line, how wonderful, and he wonders where the vocals are.

He feels someone sit next to him, and turns to see the one and only Patrick.

Pete smiles,  _there's_ the vocals.

"What's so funny?" Patrick asks accusingly, though his eyes are laughing.

Pete shakes his head, still grinning wolfishly and points to Brendon and Ryan, who are slow dancing in the light of the embers to Joe's lighthearted strumming. They're not even laughing, just holding each other and swaying, their lips trailing sweet marks up their bare shoulders (they got rid of their shirts some odd hours ago), and occasionally whispering. Pete almost feels like he's watching something not meant to be watched. 

Patrick's wrapped in a blanket, one he probably got inside, and he offers half of it to Pete, who gleefully takes it. They stay huddled together, breathing and making sleepy offhand comments about the pair until Pete shakes Patrick's shoulder and stands.

Patrick blinks up blearily at him, eyes big and doe, and asks, "huh?"

Pete says nothing and grins his trademark grin. He offers his hand and smiles so hard his cheeks hurt when Patrick takes it, letting Pete pull him up too.

Pete hugs him once they're toe to toe. Patrick whispers, "What?" and lets himself be pulled into position, a hand at his waist and the other at his shoulders.

Pete kisses his temple and sighs, "Dance with me?"

Patrick does.

They sway until dawn, whispering shit about everything and nothing below the stars, their thoughts, 'hey remember that song...?' When they stop, Pete looks down at his messy feet that ache and sends Patrick a look that must convey everything, because Patrick somehow maneuvers them into the house. 

They settle on the couch, cuddling still, and Pete falls asleep with Patrick's hot breath on his collarbone. In the morning, Patrick swats at him for having drooled on his neck but all morning through coffee, breakfast, and the drive back to the places they're each staying at, the two stick close. Revolving around each other, like they're in constant orbit or something.

(It makes Pete's stupid heart beat faster and flutter, but he does his best ignoring it.)

When Patrick drops him off, he goes inside his place and sleeps for ten hours. He texts Patrick when he wakes up, 'miss u already.'

Patrick responds within a minute, 'Me too.'

Pete closes his eyes and hears Andy's voice. 

_Maybe they'll dance with each other when they're meant to._

**Author's Note:**

> anyone still like these? lemme know, thanks! :)


End file.
